


A Brother Lost

by Blue_Robin



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 04:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18087584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Robin/pseuds/Blue_Robin
Summary: In the wake of a terror attack in London, Robin's compassion leads to the exposure of Strike's feelings for her.





	A Brother Lost

**Author's Note:**

> TW: This fic involves mention of the May 22, 2013 murder of Lee Rigby. 
> 
> I like to think about things that may come up in Strike5 and so I've been spending some time looking at recent history, post London 2012, and the only two really big news items that keep sticking out to me are the Oscar Pistorius/Reeva Steenkamp incident and the attack on Mr. Rigby. Of the two, I felt like the one Rowling/Galbraith would most likely touch on, if indeed Strike5 is set in 2013, would be the one involving the military, since Strike is a former soldier.

Cormoran woke to the echoing sound of a door slamming. Running a hand across his face, rubbing his eyes to clear the sleep grit from them, he tried to determine if the sound had been in his dream or here in the waking. He stayed still, laid in his bed and waited to see if he could hear any sounds from the floors below.

He heard nothing. Silence bloomed.

Or at least as much silence as seven thirty on a Wednesday morning in London would provide.

He groaned as he scooted himself up into a sitting position and reached for his pack of cigarettes. Mornings were his least favorite time of day. Waking, finding the energy to shower and groom his beard, attaching the prosthesis that replaced the leg he’d lost in Afghanistan…these things tested him every morning.

As he lit his first smoke of the day he tried to bring the dream he’d been caught in back to the forefront of his memory.  He knew Charlotte had been in it. Beautiful Charlotte with her sarcastic and yet somehow tragic eyes, cutting wit and such glorious beauty that had never compared to any other woman of his acquaintance.

He’d spent so many years chasing Charlotte, then trying to drown her memory in other women, then chasing her again, then drowning her again. He’d been so sure that Charlotte had been _it_ for him.

They’d raged and fought, and he’d thought that surely _this_ must be what love is.

That constant burn of passion.

The arguments leading to mind-blowing makeup sex.

The heartfelt declarations of love and forgiveness.

Apologies that were tinged with the knowledge that this would happen again and again and again.

What he could remember of the dream floated hazily through his mind. Charlotte’s face twisted in anger, her eyes spilling over with tears as she’d raged at him about the agency taking too much of his time.

 A familiar argument, one they’d had at least once a week in the last year of their relationship. Charlotte had needed more attention than he’d been able to give her while building his agency, and, he’d realized since, more attention than he’d been willing to give her.

With a mental shrug, and another swipe of his hand over his face, as though brushing away the memories and dregs of the dream, he stubbed out the cigarette and set about the process of attaching the leg and starting his morning in earnest.

As he was stepping out of the shower, reaching for another towel to dry the stump of his leg before reattaching his prosthesis he heard the familiar sound of his partner’s shoes tapping on the stairs as she climbed from the ground floor to their office just below his tiny flat.

And in the hearing of those light taps he found his motivation. Just as he did every morning when the prospect of seeing his partner was before him.

Nothing lightened his mood like knowing Robin Venetia Ellacott would be the first face he’d see in the morning.

As he dressed he found himself, once again, thinking about the dream he’d woken from. The door slamming behind him as he’d carried his rucksack from Charlotte’s spacious flat for the last time. He smiled as he realized that when he’d left her flat that night, the next morning he’d woken and met Robin shortly after. Granted he’d had to deal with Charlotte for a few minutes before Robin had come along, but after all this time he’d have gladly taken an ashtray to the face again as long as Robin was guaranteed to be the next person to climb those stairs. Despite the fact that he’d almost killed her trying to chase after Charlotte.

From the moment he’d grabbed hold of her and hauled her back to her feet on that dusty and treacherous landing Robin had set about changing his life, without either of them realizing it, without even meaning to.

And now, three years later, with her divorce final and the agency she’d help him raise to prominence, he had only one more goal in mind.

Just the thought of her bronzed halo of hair and her storm cloud over blue sky eyes, her long but generously curved body and her gentle and caring nature squeezed a chamber of his heart he’d thought had been choked to death by all of the failed relationships he’d been through.

That first year of their acquaintance he’d still been trying to rid himself of Charlotte. Her memory a constant ache that slowly receded to a dull throb, then to an occasional tweak. He’d been careful not to allow himself to linger over thoughts of his lovely assistant. She had been engaged and he was too freshly out of a relationship to consider being able to trust anyone, most especially himself, with his heart.

He’d had flings, brief relationships, and one-night stands, over the past few years, but it had become increasingly clear to him that none of those women were trustworthy enough for him to risk anything long term with. Especially as he’d slowly come to the realization that the only person he could even begin to think about trusting was the one person he knew he shouldn’t even think of in that manner.

In the last few months, watching her deal with her divorce, he’d seen the depth of her strength and fortitude. Matthew hadn’t made it easy on her. But she’d refused to let him drag her down to his level. She’d focused on her work, the agency, and building her new friendship with his own oldest friend Ilsa Herbert, as she’d patiently gone through the process. She’d only occasionally talked about Matthew’s spitefulness over a glass or three of wine at the Tottenham after office hours with him.

In those moments, laughing over Matthew’s ridiculous demands, he’d felt himself sliding further and further toward the edge.

In the moments he’d spent with her at Ilsa’s, having dinner together with Ilsa’s husband Nick, watching the way she fit seamlessly into the one constant relationship he’d had in his life with his two oldest friends, he’d stopped trying to find a foothold or a finger grip to stop the slow slide.

And in the quiet of their office, when her perfume twined around his senses and her mere presence provided such measures of peace and contentment as he’d not known since his boyhood in Cornwall, he’d tumbled over that edge, realizing that all of the other women, all of the other trials in his life, had just been things he’d needed to get through in order to find her.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

He stepped into the office and watched Robin’s bright head pop around the corner of their kitchen annex. “Tea?” she asked in lieu of greeting, her eyebrows raised in question.

“’Course.” He walked over to her desk and picked up the stack of post she’d obviously carried up with her, flipping through it as he listened to the familiar sounds of her bustling around, making their morning cup.

Finding nothing of any interest to him in the mail, he turned and leaned back against the side of her desk, tucking his hands into his pockets and settled in to watch her finish the routine.

“You have surveillance on Stick Man this afternoon,” she reminded him as she removed the teabag from her mug and dropped it into his mug to aid in the quest for more color and a stronger flavor. “But I thought I might actually take that because I have a short errand I need to run in that area,” she glanced back at him. “If that’s OK with you.”

“Sure. It shouldn’t be a problem at all. Anything I can help you with work wise?” The last thing he wanted to do was hand her more of his own work, even if she asked for it, without lightening her load in some way. “Got any notes you need me to transcribe? Since I’ll be in the office all day.” He grinned at her as she handed him his mug and passed him on her way to her chair.

He turned to keep her in his view and hitched his hip up so that he was half sitting on the corner of her desk. She opened their shared office diary and looked at the appointments they had coming in.

“Nope. I got all the notes typed up last night while I watched telly.” She smiled at him as she cradled her mug in her hands, clearly enjoying the warmth it imparted.

“You know you don’t have to do that right? Work after you get home.” Guilt hovered over him as he thought about her at home, working, while he’d been drinking and reading in his flat, steadfastly refusing to contemplate anymore work for the day.

She shrugged and said, “I had nothing better to do. I’ve next to no social life now that I’m divorced and I don’t like being idle. It was just easier to get them done. And it saves us time during the work day.”

“Next to no social life huh? What about Ilsa and Vanessa?” He knew she’d become fast friends with both Ilsa and DS Ekwenski, who was the partner of their Met contact DI Eric Wardle.

“They were both busy last night,” Robin replied as she turned to look at him and sip her tea, “And besides, I can’t be with someone all the time. My therapist says I need to learn how to be alone with myself. Especially after so many years with Matthew.”

“Well, what are your plans for tonight?” He caught himself asking without even a second thought.

“Nothing. Though I do have a rather good flavor of ice cream back at the flat in the freezer. It’ll just be me and Ben and Jerry. My two favorite men.”

She smirked as he affected an expression of offense taken. “What would Nick say if I were to tell him he wasn’t in the top three?”

“Well who says he isn’t?” Her eyes twinkled as she teased him back.

“I’m going to forget I heard that. What cheek.” She chuckled and shook her head at him before they both glanced around at the sound of the door opening. Their morning appointment had arrived.

The work day had begun, and now he knew she’d at least be receptive to a drink at the Tottenham after they finished for the day.

Greeting the new client with a smile and a handshake he led the way into his office as Robin assured them she’d be through in just a few moments with some tea for the new arrival.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The afternoon passed slowly after Robin had left to tail Stick Man. He’d written up the notes from the last two client consults and started files for both. He’d texted Robin throughout the day to let her know they’d gotten both jobs and one of them would be something he thought she’d be interested in.

He ate a solitary lunch of fish and chips, smoked a few too many fags and watched the clock slowly tick the minutes away.

Finally, a little before two thirty he decided he’d had enough, and he grabbed his phone to text Robin to ask if she’d like to meet him for a drink at the Tottenham. There were no other appointments on the books and she’d done all of the office work. Things were slow and it was pointless to stay cooped up in the office.

Just as he was pulling up their last conversation up on his phone an incoming call from Robin buzzed through.

“’lo? Everything OK?”

“Odd thing just happened. I was just on the Tube back to the office and they made everyone on my train get off at Charing Cross.” He could hear the noise of people rushing around her in the street over the baffled tone in her voice.

“They didn’t give a reason?” he asked.

“Nothing. Just an announcement for us to clear the train and leave the station. Bit mad really.”

He exhaled a stream of smoke with a curious “Hmm” as he turned back to his laptop and pulled up a news website. “Maybe there was a problem with the train?”

“No. It took off again as soon as we got off.”

“Well, do you want me to come rescue you?” he offered.

“No. I think I can manage the walk from here.”

“Don’t hesitate to let me know if you change your mind.”

“Cormoran, it would take longer for you to get to the car and get to me than it’ll take for me to leg it. Want me to pick anything up for you on my way?” she asked.

“No. Just head on back.”

“Roger that.”

The call was disconnected, and he turned back to his laptop and continued to look for any information that might explain why her train had been stopped.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty minutes later he heard her called “Hiya,” and heard her hanging her jacket on the hook by the door shortly before she appeared in his office. He glanced up as she appeared and beckoned her closer, pointing to his computer screen. She rounded the edge of his desk and leaned over to rest her hands on the top of the desk, allowing her to see what was on his computer screen.

 In the twenty minutes it had taken for her to arrive he’d found various unconfirmed reports on Twitter and Facebook of a man, in military uniform, being attacked in Wellington Street.

She gasped and lowered herself even further onto her arms as she read the Twitter feed filled with eye witness accounts.

“Oh my God!” She glanced at him, tears already welling.

Cormoran was speechless. He could do nothing but gaze back at her helplessly. His brain muddled.

A fellow soldier. Cut down. In London.

Robin’s hand was resting on his arm now as she waited for him to process what they’d just learned.

“I don’t…,” he trailed off, unsure of what he’d been about to say.

He looked sightlessly at the computer screen as the words, _“attack,” “British soldier,”_ and, _“possible terrorist attack,”_ seemed to float in front of his eyes. 

He drew in a deep breath that hitched a little and he finally registered that Robin was no longer on her feet next to him, but rather, she was kneeling on the floor next to his chair, her hand still laid on his arm, her face a study of concern mingling with fear and sadness.

“Are you OK?” she asked quietly. When he didn’t answer she continued, “It’s OK if you aren’t. I’m not sure I am,” she murmured. “What a terrible thing.”

She was turned toward him now, her torso on a level with his thigh, and he felt her other arm come to rest against his back. He was still trying to sort through the emotions welling in him.

It was unconscionable that a British soldier had been attacked on his own soil. Something like this was unfathomable.

A part of Cormoran was occupied with wondering if it had been someone he’d known. Plenty of his comrades had remained in the Army when he’d left. Goodness knew how many people he knew who were still in the service.

He glanced down to see Robin’s kind face, tears still hovering in her lashes, turned up to him, waiting for him to indicate what he needed from her.

“I wonder…”

“…if you know them?” She finished for him.

And as he nodded he felt her hand leave his arm and press against the inside of his knee, turning his body toward her so that she could slip into the vee of his legs and embrace him.

She knelt there, between his legs, her arms wrapped around his back, one hand rubbing between his shoulder blades as the other brought his head to her shoulder.

He pressed his forehead to the warmth of her neck, inhaling her floral scent and allowing it to keep him grounded, as he tried to stop his thoughts wandering, _“Was it quick?”, “Was it terror related?”, “Was it someone I know?”_

“They’ll release their name soon,” she whispered as she stroked his back in soothing circles. “We’ll know soon.”

And he was struck anew with the depth of her compassion for her fellow man. Here she was, knelt on his floor, comforting him, and crying for the loss of a person she likely didn’t even know. He knew he’d never be able to express what those moments, cradled against her small frame, with her hands stroking him and her tears forming wet spots on the shoulder of his shirt meant to him.

He gently pulled away from her and took her hand as it slid from his back, down over his shoulder, to his chest. He scooted his chair back and stood, pulling her to her feet as he did so.

He kept her hand in his as he used his left hand to brush softly at the tears on her cheeks. He watched the hand he wasn’t holding in his fly to her face to brush away anything he’d missed, and he saw her eyes lower in what he feared was embarrassment.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

She glanced back up at him, her fingers still swiping away moisture from her lashes, and nodded. She squeezed his hand softly and he felt her start to turn away.

Before she could do so he raised the hand he was still clasping and pressed a kiss to her palm. Her fingers twitched against his face, in shock, as he did so. Her eyes darted to his. Clouded with confusion.

He pressed the kiss he’d placed in her palm with his thumb before tugging lightly to pull her back into his arms. She went willingly, and he sighed as he felt her arms wrap around his waist as he lowered his chin to the top of her head. She fitted against him perfectly.

“You’re the most compassionate person I know Robin. And that’s such a gift.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the bright hair below his lips.

“You see the best in everyone, including me. And you always offer comfort, even to people who don’t understand it.”

She sniffled, and he’d have bet every cigarette in his fresh pack that she was crying again.

“I’m very lucky to have you as my partner and my friend. I’m so lucky.” He stroked her back, feeling the tremors from the tears she was trying to hold back at his words.

“Thanks for that.” And he pulled back to look her in the eye, dropping all his guards hoping she’d see what he knew was there.

His love for her.

He bent and brushed a soft kiss to her cheek, near her jaw and felt her turn her face toward him, searching for his lips.

They met softly. With barely a press. Their lips just resting against one another. Eyes closed. Breath mingling. Hearts racing.

Her lips moved against his, sliding, pressing more firmly before opening slightly and inviting him to explore.

He pulled back and framed her face in his hands, searching her face, desperate to know, for certain, that this was what she wanted.

With a small sigh she leaned into him, her eyes sliding closed as he brought his mouth to hers and finally allowed himself to set about memorizing the way her lips felt beneath his. The way her tongue slid softly to meet his, chasing, retreating. So sweet.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer into the bulk of his body, her breasts crushed against his chest, her arms wrapped like ropes around his shoulders and neck. His left hand buried in her hair while his right stroked the soft strip of skin revealed by her shirt riding up.

They stayed like this for what felt like hours, and minutes. Wrapped in each other. Skin stroking skin, fingers tangling around hair, thumbs stroking cheeks, her palm smoothing across his beard.

They stayed like that as his phone buzzed on the desk.

They stayed like that as the world around them tried to come to terms with what had happened that day.

They stayed entwined and wrapped together, refusing to allow the darkness that had led them to this moment anywhere near the light they were creating in each other.

When they finally broke apart he tucked her hair behind her ear, mirroring a gesture he’d seen her make countless times. Her eyes never left his face, as her tongue swept along her lower lip, before she bit it and grinned at him shyly.

He slid a hand down her arm and captured her fingers in his.

“Pub?” he asked.

She smiled and nodded, following as he led the way from the office, her hand still clasped tightly in his.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd be interested to hear from our Brit friends what other incidents may come up in Strike5...
> 
> And since I had no clue what to title this piece, please feel free to leave me title suggestions.


End file.
